


Out of Hand

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, First Time, Foot Massage, Multi, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), toe sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: After a long day, Nanny's feet are killing her.Aziraphale offers to help.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth/Brother Francis (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 267





	Out of Hand

**Author's Note:**

> From the first volume of Nanny's Tales which came out around Thanksgiving. 
> 
> There's some pronoun switching for Crowley in this fic just a heads up.
> 
> Enjoy!

Aziraphale frantically tidies the front room of the cottage. Why had he invited Crowley over today of all days? The begonias had been giving him grief and then the topiary nearly required a miracle to wrangle. All in all, he is exhausted. He’s barely had a moment to scrub the dirt from his hands before Crowley is knocking at the door.

 _Nanny_ is knocking at the door.

Aziraphale would be fooling himself if he said his heart didn’t speed up when he opens the door. Crowley's hair is coiffed in perfect victory rolls, his make up making him look like a demonic Mary Poppins.

"Hello, Francis," Nanny says with a slight bow of her head. Aziraphale scrambles to let her inside. His heart beats in time to the click of her heels across the modest wood floors.

"Let me just get the fire going," Aziraphale says, snapping his fingers to light the logs as he shows Crowley to the living room.

Crowley sags into the nearest chair and kicks off his shoes. "Kill me, angel. I’m going to need to invest in some trainers. I had to run after a toddler all day in those."

He casts a venomous look at the shoes before hitching his ankle up over his knee to drag his knuckles over his arch. Aziraphale can see the red discoloration from where the heels have chafed through the sheer material of Crowley's black stockings. 

Crowley grimaces and jabs his knuckles harder into his foot which won’t do at all.

Clucking his tongue, Aziraphale crosses the room to take Crowley's hand away. "You're going to make things worse if you treat your poor feet that way."

Without even thinking, Aziraphale drops to his knees in front of Crowley, pulling his foot onto his thighs so he can press his thumb into his arch. Crowley's head drops back against the chair and he moans.

Aziraphale keeps his gaze on Crowley's foot and decides to not acknowledge the noise. What is he supposed to do? He started this. Like a fool. He is always a fool around Crowley.

"My dear, you really should wear more sensible shoes," Aziraphale chides softly, pushing his knuckles against Crowley's heel.

"What would you have me wear your hideous boots?" 

It's asked in the breathy brogue of Nanny and Aziraphale glances up at Crowley to see he's shrugged on the facade of his role. It's probably easier. To enforce a bit of distance while Aziraphale does this intimate thing. The two of them have become very good at that over the years. Distance.

"There must be some lovely shoes out there that won't make your feet hurt," Aziraphale says and maybe the Nanny persona makes him feel brave because he cups her ankle in his hand. Crowley's ankles have always looked so delicate and he can confirm it now, feeling the thin bone press into his palm as he holds her foot steady.

The slip of Nanny’s stocking makes it difficult for Aziraphale to rub the ball of her foot where most of the redness is. He brushes his thumb back and forth, but the fabric pulls under it. The soft, see through black is tantalizing in its own way, but he needs to get at her skin.

He hesitates, but Crowley has slipped on a mask for now. She is a different person. This isn't Aziraphale and Crowley. This isn't even Francis and Nanny. This is something else entirely. Something new.

He licks his lips and slides his hand up her calf, letting it rest on her inner knee for a moment, asking for permission. "I need to take off your stockings, miss."

It feels like a game now. And when Crowley's legs fall apart, Aziraphale knows they are both playing. He has no idea how far they will go. He doesn't know if he will put a stop to it. 

He pushes up the thick black brocade of Crowley's skirt so he can find the lace strap of her stocking and as the material moves, her thighs shift apart and he catches a glimpse of fiery red curls between her legs. He realizes with a hot gust of arousal that she isn't wearing knickers. His fingers catch on the buckles of her stocking suspenders, delicate things. Using his other hand, he pushes up her skirt the rest of the way until almost her whole leg is exposed. Her legs are impossibly long, impossibly pale and dotted with kissable freckles that make Aziraphale’s head spin. He holds her skirt up, his thumb pressed against the warm skin of her thigh as he uses his other hand to unsnap her suspenders.

They come undone with a click and short gasp from Nanny. Aziraphale glances at her only to see her mouth parted, cheeks flushed. The belief he had moments before that he might stop before this got out of hand disappears. He's not going to stop. He could never, not with her looking like that, not with her wet and waiting in front of him.

He skates his fingers over her inner thigh, incredibly close to the damp heat radiating from her ginger curls, but he doesn't touch. Hooking his fingers into the elastic of the lace he works it down over her slim thigh, her delicate knee, her shapely calf, and when it finely slips free, he drops it to the floor and rakes his eyes over her. Her skirt is pulled up to where her thigh meets her hip and it no longer hides anything, but she doesn't move to pull it down. Her legs are parted just enough that Aziraphale can see how wet she is beneath the thatch of red curls. He wants to reach out and touch her there, but first he wants to be invited.

He takes her foot in his hand again and rubs his thumb up her arch. "That's better," he says, voice huskier than he intended.

Crowley's eyes open behind her glasses. She's still Nanny but just barely as she says, "I quite agree. What about the...er, the other stocking?"

“In a moment, dear,” Aziraphale replies, taking his time with her right foot. He presses his first two knuckles just beneath the ball of her foot, pushing them in a delicate circle as she moans with relief. With a firm grip, he runs both thumbs up her arch before playing with her toes which earns him a hitch in her breathing.

She’s painted her toenails a red so dark it’s almost black. The color flickers in the firelight as Aziraphale massages each toe. When he looks up at Crowley to gauge her reaction, her glasses have slid so far down her nose, they are almost falling off. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, gaze distant as her chest heaves. He has the sudden urge to undo the heavy buttons of her jacket, her blouse, to see what her body looks like beneath all her layers. 

He turns his attention back to his work lest he become distracted. 

“Your poor, abused toes,” he says, softly running his fingers over the flushed skin. He knows his callused hands must tickle but Crowley doesn’t respond with anything except her choked off gasps. “Perhaps I should kiss them better.

He bends his head and presses a chaste kiss to the tip of her big toe, kissing each one down the line as he hears Crowley’s breathing accelerate. Encouraged, he sucks her pinky toe into his mouth. Crowley swears.

Aziraphale’s hands migrate to her calf, massaging the tense muscle as he licks and sucks, chasing Crowley’s blissed out sounds. Before long, he can’t stand it and he’s kissing her arch, her ankle, all the way up her leg.

He can smell the heady scent of her arousal dripping between her legs. Her curls are slick with it, flesh shining and swollen. The fact that he’s responsible for how wet she is makes him ache in his trousers, but he finds he doesn’t want to do anything to seek his own release. He wants his mouth on her. He wants her to come under his tongue.

He slides his hand under her skirt, pushing it up until it’s bunched around her hips. He looks up at her from where he’s poised between her legs, waiting, mouth watering. This was not what he thought would happen when they decided to come to the Dowlings, but he can’t complain. He’s wanted it for years. He’s wanted _Crowley_ for years.

“Please,” he says when Crowley finally meets his eyes.

“Angel,” Crowley breathes and her accent is gone, Nanny entirely disappeared for the moment. Aziraphale doesn’t know if that’s good or bad but he can hardly think. He can feel the heat rolling between Crowley’s legs. He’s so close to getting what he wants.

“Please,” he says again. Begs.

“Yes,” Crowley breathes. Her hips hitch forward and that’s all the invitation Aziraphale needs.

He pushes Crowley’s legs as far apart as they will go, hooking one of her knees over the arm of the chair as Aziraphale pulls her hips to the edge of the seat. She’s so wet that she drips as Aziraphale spreads her open with his thumbs. He massages the heated skin, wanting to make this good for Crowley, but barely able to restrain himself. Her clit is swollen, peeking out from the hood, and Aziraphale runs his thumbs up on either side of the sensitive nub. Crowley’s nails dig into the arm rests and she moans, “Oh, angel.”

With a light touch, he circles the pad of his index finger just above her clit. She gasps and squirms and he can only imagine what she will do under his mouth. 

It’s quite an image really: Crowley spread out before him on his wingback chair, one leg bare and tossed over the arm of the chair, the other still clad in her sheer stocking, her skirt pulled up above her the silken belt of her suspenders and her lower body entirely exposed to Aziraphale. 

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale says, half to himself, and before Crowley can reply, he leans in and flicks his tongue over her clit, just a tease before licking down either side of her opening and gathering her slick in his mouth. She tastes delicious, salty and sweet and all for him. He buries his nose in her coarse curls and pushes his tongue inside her. Her hips shudder and her hand goes to his hair.

She makes gorgeous sounds. Sounds Aziraphale doesn’t think he’s ever heard Crowley make before, not for anything. It makes Aziraphale’s heart soar. He just wants to bring his demon pleasure, a moment of respite from all this. 

He pulls away slightly and delicately traces her with the tip of his tongue. He glances up at her and she tugs at the bow around her neck, gasping for air. He could stop, rise up on his knees, and undo her blouse. He could pull her half-naked into his arms. But he won’t. He wants to do exactly this.

He presses the flats of his hands into her thighs, licking over her in broad strokes that make the stark tendons of her legs shake beneath his palms. It’s only when she gasps his name, not angel, but _Aziraphale_ that he pulls her swollen clit into his mouth and sucks.

She comes fast, pulsing under his mouth as her legs twitch. Aziraphale pulls back and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. 

They stare at each other for a moment as Crowley tries to catch her breath. She’s the first one to look away. “Maybe I should go—” 

“I haven’t even done the other foot,” Aziraphale interrupts. It’s the only thing he can say. If Crowley leaves right then, his heart will break. He wants to take care of Crowley, if just for a bit longer.

Crowley pushes some of her sweat-damp hair out of her face. She grins. “Oh, well, be my guest.”

Aziraphale reaches for the clasp of her other suspender and gets to work.


End file.
